“The grass shall weep with the blood of a lamb born and beaten.”
The crowd is led by one sheep. This elder sheep seems most sure of its glorious purpose and bleats its joy to the crowd of curious green blades, flat in the absence of moving winds. The crowd rises at its beseeching to join it in praise of the land and sky. Not all willingly but pushed along by draughts of peer pressure or piteous understanding.
The crickets begin to string their choral tunes, layered in anxiety for perfection. The grassy audience awaits their enchantment. The first lamb leaps into the centre of the crowd, tendering an acute note that every valley shall be exalted and filled, and that every mountain and hill be ennobled too!
Yellow, red and purple pink flowers stretch upwards from the shadows to the sky’s light and sway in the shaded layers, singing “Gloria! Gloria!” beneath velvet clouds of legacy and hopes.
The second lamb with a baritone echo took over from the enlivened flowers and harken, “Look! The armies of heaven approach!” The treasure is to be unveiled to them. The third lamb with a brown black coat mezzoed after the flowers, asking who shall stand when it appears; who may abide the day of the shepherds' coming?
The flowers sing in determining tones that they shall be purified and refined like the gold and the silver. The stringed ones urge on as they crescendo. The meek mezzo lamb tells of good tidings to the meadows that their shepherd Emmanuel shall be coming. The flowers stand and sway quietly as the lamb sings behold, behold. The flowers are touched by such unwavering conviction and join in chorus, “Arise, arise and behold!”
A thickly dark cloud passes over the meadows and eclipses the warmth of the land. The grass, flowers, crickets and sheep all pause in silence. The second baritone lamb bravely comforts them that the glory of the sun will be seen; The darkness and shadows will pass. The flowers are quiet. The lamb bleats on. There is a break in the clouds and a single radiant ray of golden sunlight shines upon the faithful lamb.
The stringed ones gather courage to support the lamb’s entreatment; the clouds are soon broken and like vapour vanish from the blue sky. The flowers are joyous and sings that the sun of everlasting light is born - the wonderful king of their peaceful sky.
The fourth lamb with a soprano tone chants, the angel of the one is upon us and the shepherds will see. Its reddish gold wool sparkles suddenly and there appears a multitude of angels on the meadows as the strings pick up tempo. The flowers trill for glory in the highest and peace on earth. “Goodwill! Goodwill!”
Rejoice! sings the red gold lamb, skipping around the meadow. The grassy blades are beguiled in soothing dreams. The one sheep looks at the blades of rapt listeners and asks politely, “Please do share your dew with us, grass.” as the flock of sheep started nibbling at the grass, we need green sustenance too. The grass are dazed and murmuring small discordance but are assuaged by the choral; “Peace we give you,” sing the flowers. It sounds a lot like Elvis singing, “I can't help falling in love with you.”
The flowers sing, behold the new born golden lamb of the shepherds. The other lambs are restless. They did not like this fifth baby lamb appearing with the first four. It is too weak and so is despised and rejected by the other sheep. The mezzo brown lamb seem to share its weighted sorrows as the littlest one is bullied and kicked around by the bigger sheep yet both do not make a sound.
The flowers know and are indignant but unhelpful as they grew rooted to the earth. Shouting loudly their laments, the flowers and grass protest the actions of the flock that has been unkind. The little lamb white and meek, is covered in patches of blood. Have all their sheep gone astray, the little ones lament.
The strings of the crickets are sad and their bows are burdened with grief. The first tenorous lamb sees the littlest puff of a lamb and how it is scorned. He shakes his little head in sadness; he trusted the shepherds to protect this mewling.
The little golden lamb is in pain and the tenor lamb feels empathy and sympathy. Despair coupled with a broken heart make it is hard to be comforted in such suffering.
The red gold lamb is distressed and broods that the flock will be hell bound; Thou didst not. Lift up your heads, little lambs, say the flowers. Open up to the sky. The angels do not interfere, the tenor lamb says. Let the angels come, say the flowers.
The baritone lamb is sullen. The little lamb might still hope to dwell among them. The shepherds give the word when you die, say the flowers. The red gold lamb hears the feet of the shepherds approach. How beautiful are they, the tidings of good things! They will save this lamb. The sound has gone out, say the flowers.
The stringed ones urge hurriedly. The baritone one is curious, why do the the flocks rage so? Suddenly there is a stillness and the storms of thunderous hallelujah pours down on the meadow.
The flowers seem saddened by the cycle of life; They will drown in the sea of death. The grass know that not every blade dies by withering, for some are transformed into a haystacked eternity. Let us tell you a mystery, they whisper against the storms. Awaken to the mystery of the body of passion and the wisdom of the light within.
O Death, where is thy sting? The little lambs bleat compassionately. For sin is the sting that results in death, say the eldest and wisest sheep, and the law gives sin its power in the cycle of life and in the throes of death. There is a purpose to this body; let it go.
The little golden lamb is slain and its red blood is mixed with the mud of the meadow. The meadow cries for the creatures. They too will soon follow. They shall weep with the blood of a lamb born and beaten by sin.
The shepherd sees the lamb clearly and picks up its body; you shall now serve a different purpose in my house. And so the flowers and crickets praise its final worth, “As thine angels serve before Thee, so in earth Thy will be done to the lamb forever and ever.”
*ps: just an imaginary story inspired by Handel’s Messiah.
